Impossibly Connected
by genielou
Summary: Based on the movie "In Your Eyes", Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff has always been connected, they just didn't know it until they were able to hear each other's voices in their minds. Can they build a relationship even though they have never seen each other's faces? Is the Black Widow ready to feel emotions or is love really just for children? Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any Marvel characters. This fictional story was written out of pure entertainment and no profit is being made from releasing it.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing a fanfiction about Captain America and/or Black Widow so I apologize in advance for any misinformation or out-of-character reference. I'm still trying to get the hang of this.

This story is based off of the movie "In Your Eyes." If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it. The gist of it is that two people have a psychic connection with each other, and they can hear what they say and sometimes see what they see. I adapted the movie to fit with this story so it's a bit of an AU. Sorry if you don't like AU!

Although, this is a test run. I'd like to see first if people will actually read it. So if a lot of people read and review, then I'll work on the second chapter immediately. If not, the second chapter may take very long to come out. Either way, for those who do read, I hope you enjoy it.

 **Impossibly Connected**

Chapter 1

by genielou

Steve Rogers never felt like a complete person. It has always been like that, even as a small child. It wasn't ambition that he was missing, he was sure of it. It wasn't some sort of materialistic desire. It wasn't love. It was something else; something that he couldn't quite identify. After he became a super soldier, he thought that maybe his new abilities and the new opportunities would fill that void. At one point, he thought that maybe a relationship with Margaret Carter would make the feeling of emptiness go away. It didn't. Despite the adventures, the opportunities, and the love, there was still a piece of him that felt like something was missing. He never did figure out what it was, and if he were to be completely honest, the only relief that came from crashing the plane onto the ice was the realization that he didn't have to ponder over the mysterious emptiness anymore.

* * *

Natalia Alianovna Romanova was fearless. She was molded to be a killing machine with no regard for any sort of fear… at least, that was how she presented herself to be. It was the only way to assure her survival in the Black Widow program. It was either fear or be feared. She preferred to be the latter, so every morning, as she rose from her bed, she perfected a mask of stoic coldness that sent tremors down her competitors' spines. It didn't matter what she felt; it didn't matter that she spent every night with nightmares about drowning or being stuck inside a block of ice; none of that mattered, as long as her colleagues regarded her with tremendous caution and her opponents cowered at her feet.

Despite being good at ignoring her nightmares, the question of why she would have nightmares about drowning or being in ice intrigued her. Sometimes, she awoke to a terrifying chill, and she swore she almost felt the sting of frostbite on her arms. As she got older and better at killing, her nightmares shifted to a life that was foreign to her; a life that should be foreign to anyone at her age. At first, she dreamt of jazz music, of pastel-colored dresses, and of missed opportunities to dance. Eventually, her dreams morphed in detailed experiences. She dreamt of failed double dates, of crowded fairs, of military testing, of performing on stage, and of fighting with men that she had never seen before. She felt absolutely disturbed with the emotions that her dreams were emitting. The ambition, the drive, the despair, the love, and the pride; there were so many other emotions that she was unfamiliar with and it made her so uncomfortable. The shift in her dreams made it so difficult for her to maintain her composure that she almost wished that she could have her nightmares back.

When she joined SHIELD and she officially became Natasha Romanoff, her dreams shifted again. She dreamt of events as if she was watching a movie. She dreamt of an old man holding a bottle of liquor and talking to her about being a "good man"; she dreamt of a group of soldiers asking her to open a tab; she dreamt of a handsome man screaming a name that was not hers and looking at her with wild, desperate eyes as his grip on a metal railing slipped and he fell into what seemed like a never-ending white abyss; and she dreamt of looking beyond a cloudy horizon and hearing the defeated voice of a woman, telling her to not be late. She hated the last one the most. After the first time that she dreamt that particular dream, she couldn't get that woman's voice out of her head. Her chest felt heavy for an entire week and the feeling was similar to an emotion she remembered having when she was asked to complete her first kill at the age of 9.

It was a series of dreams, and she thought it strange that all of the dreams occurred in what seemed like a past era. It seemed like the 40's or the 50's, if she were to try to guess. She was curious and she considered consulting Director Fury on why she was having such vivid dreams. Though she quickly changed her mind, out of fear that she would be deemed incapable of performing well on the field. Besides, Captain America was just found alive while being buried deep under ice and everyone at SHIELD was talking about him. From what she has read about him, the guy was supposed to be from World War II. Maybe that was the reason why she was dreaming about that era. Hopefully, the incessant chatter about him will stop as soon as he wakes up.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Marvel characters mentioned in this story. No profit is being made from releasing this fictional story.

Author's Note: I'm pretty sure I got some of the details wrong in this chapter so if you spot any of them, just remember that I'm very new at writing an Avengers fanfic. Also, the translations in this chapter is likely to be inaccurate so I apologize to any readers who speak Czech if I got any of it wrong.

One more! I don't have a beta so grammatical error will be present. Anyways…

Enjoy!

 **Impossibly Connected**

Chapter 2

by genielou

"We're just concerned, Captain Rogers. We want to make sure that you are healthy, both physically and mentally."

Steve watched the old man warily. The kind doctor sounded sincere with his inquiries, but that didn't stop Steve from regretting his decision to honestly reveal the contents of his dreams to him.

An entire month has passed since he awoke from his apparent 70 years of sleep, and SHIELD has yet to release him onto the real world. Director Fury had informed him that his mental and physical stability had to be cleared before he can interact with the public, so his days had been filled with countless sessions of varying intents. Mondays and Tuesdays had been designated towards physical testing and psychiatric examinations. Wednesdays and Thursdays were dedicated towards educating him of national and international events from the past 70 years. Fridays were solely for studying about the current popular trends (at the insistence of Agent Coulson). The weekends were usually open for Steve to do whatever he wanted but, because he has yet to figure out what to do with himself, he allotted Saturdays and Sundays as his workout days. Those were his favorite days. From the early mornings until the late afternoons, he would go through each and every one of the equipment at the gym facility of the Triskelion. He created sequences for himself and made sure to spend at least an hour doing each. If he finished before the end of the day, he would just do it all over again.

His weekend routines became a popular spectacle for most of the agents at SHIELD, especially the female agents. The men admired him, and sometimes watched him in envy. The women ogled at him, and watched him with glazed eyes full of want. Steve may be old, but he wasn't naïve. The sudden flow of female agents during the second weekend of his workouts was so painfully obvious that it became difficult to concentrate on his tasks. He felt so uncomfortable by the growing crowd that he requested, and was granted, a " _device that can somehow drown out the constant chatting and giggling."_ Those were the exact words that he said to Agent Hill, and the usually indifferent woman was very understanding. The morning after his awkward conversation with her, Steve found a nicely packaged iPod on his coffee table, already programmed with songs from his time. He would later allow Agent Coulson to add what was supposedly deemed as recommended workout tracks of the 21st century.

The workout sessions worked well for Steve. It distracted him from the shock of waking up to a different era. It allowed him to not think about his friends, who had passed on while he was in ice. Most importantly, exhausting his body allowed him to release his frustrations from being contained by SHIELD. It was bad enough that he felt foreign in this new world; being constantly monitored by Agent Coulson or Agent Hill made it worse. It took a lot of self-control to not voice out his opinions, and working out helped with that. That was, until he started having strange dreams.

The dreams were simple at first. He dreamt of young ballet dancers practicing on a large studio room. The room of young girls were always on their tip toes, performing complicated sequences with perfected grace. Initially, Steve thought that the dreams were caused by a show that he must have watched on the television. Although, as the same dream played in his head for the fifth time, Steve was ready to conclude that he must have gone crazy from being frozen for so long. When the dreams slowly turned into a diluted version of a horror film, Steve was definitely sure that there was something wrong with his mind. The dreams shifted to a constant shade of red. There were training exercises that looked similar to what he went through during his time in the army; there were large men touching women and young girls in the most appalling ways; the scariest that he had dreamt, which he remembered awakening from with a scream, was seeing the same young girls standing over numerous bloodied bodies. Steve could not make hind or sight of what the dream meant, and it bothered him enough to make him not want to go to sleep at all.

The lack of sleep quickly affected his everyday performance. He became sluggish and easily distracted. A few times, he was found dozing off at random parts of the day. Agent Hill was the first to notice. Steve tried to hide his fatigue from her, but she was especially assertive to his condition. He felt, rather than saw, her silent observation whenever she was present, and if she was not visibly present, Steve was sure that she was still somehow watching him from afar. Not long after her initial inquiry of his weariness, Steve was summoned by Director Fury. On the immediate day after that meeting, Steve was consulted to a therapist, whose office he now sat in.

Steve forced his attention back to the present when he realized that the doctor was speaking.

"-—a past memory, perhaps?"

He shook his head lightly. "I saw a lot of things during the war, but ballerinas with blood in their hands weren't one of 'em."

The doctor sighed heavily as he wrote something on his pad. "Maybe we are working you too hard, Captain. Taking a breather might do you some good. I will file a recommendation to the Director for your daily schedule to be halted. Hopefully, this will allow you to rest and ease your mind."

 _More time to do nothing. Great._ He thought bitterly as he rose from his seat and gave a polite "Thank you, sir."

* * *

Despite not having a schedule, Steve was still required to report to the Triskelion every day. "Think of it as an opportunity to get to know SHIELD," Directory Fury offered. Steve complied, although he felt like the Director just wanted to keep an eye on him.

With nothing to do, Steve decided to observe the other agents' daily activities to keep himself occupied. It was not an immediate decision. Actually, Steve just found himself doing it automatically while quietly sitting inside Agent Coulson's office. He saw the busy flow of agents through the glass that divided the office from the rest of the floor and, before he knew it, curiosity got the best of him. When Steve first awoke, he avoided the other SHIELD agents as best as he could, except for those who were specifically assigned to escort him like Agent Hill and Agent Coulson. Now, he welcomed the company. Although he still exuded a rather quiet demeanor, he initiated light conversions more readily while maintaining his questions towards work-related topics. No one seemed to mind that Captain America was taking the initiative to get to know the government's top intelligence organization more. In fact, all of the agents were more than happy to assist him (right after recovering from their awe at seeing him, of course).

He asked about everything. He asked about the academies for the different departments at SHIELD, about the types of missions given to the agents, about the various clearance levels of the agents, and about the hierarchy of authority at SHIELD. Eventually, Steve started asking about specific agents. He asked about Agent Coulson and Agent Hill; he learned that both earned respectable reputations amongst the lesser-level agents. He asked about Director Fury and the undeniable absence of his left eye (no one was able to answer that question). He observed the every one and tried to learn about them. There were two in particular that especially caught his attention, who were only known by their infamous code names: Hawkeye and Black Widow.

"I'm sorry, Captain. That information is classified. Only agents of level 7 clearance or higher can know their names," Agent Hill told him with finality.

Steve was not able to get their names but their specific skillset was well-known throughout the SHIELD community so that information was not hard to come by. Hawkeye was an expert marksman (the man was supposedly able to hit any target from any distance), he was especially gifted with a bow and arrow, and his hand-to-hand combat skills were amongst the best. He was notorious for being able to enter a mission without the need of an extraction plan (although there were many agents who claimed that the Director had forced an extraction team on him during his most hopeless missions, despite his protests). The man had completed far more missions than most agents and was the second most valuable asset to SHIELD. According to the female agents, Hawkeye was also a bit of a flirt, despite the rumors of his relationship with Black Widow.

The Black Widow's reputation was more clouded and mysterious. Like Hawkeye, she was an expert marksman, was especially talented with a gun, and her fighting skills ranged in many styles. She worked alone or with Hawkeye; never with any other agents. Her directives always came straight from Director Fury, and she very rarely required an extraction plan. According to the female agents, the Black Widow was the number 1 most valuable asset to SHIELD, specifically because of her beauty, which was rumored to be her greatest weapon against her adversaries. Steve had only seen her from far away, but that was enough for him to agree with the rumors. The Black Widow was undoubtedly beautiful, and a part of Steve felt uneasy with thoughts of how the Black Widow could use her physical attributes to her advantage during missions. He tried asking Agent Coulson about her, to which the kind man responded, "It's funny that you mentioned her. She was actually approached to be your handler for when you woke up. Unfortunately, her skill set was needed for an immediate mission so Director Fury substituted Agent Hill as your handler instead."

Steve could only nod in contemplation.

"She also has a temper. And she can be a bit paranoid. Suspicious. She especially doesn't like it when people pry into her business," Agent Coulson continued. "I recommend that you stop your inquiries about her until you are more familiar with the entire division, Captain."

Steve must have looked saddened at this order because Agent Coulson then offered, "Maybe I'll introduce you to her best friend first. I have found that the fastest way to get acquainted with the Black Widow was to win her best friend's trust first."

* * *

Steve awoke in the middle of the night with his chest heaving and his eyes looking wildly about. The dreams had been slowly changing again, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. He no longer dreamt of ballerinas. Instead, he dreamt of dark places and vicious-looking men; men who looked and felt dirty.

Every night was different as well. He never dreamt of the same dark rooms or alleys, or the same men. It was as if he were watching a progression of events each night. The previous week, he dreamt of being trapped in a shack with only a rusty knife in one hand to protect himself. The night after that, he dreamt of desperately pushing against a large man as large hands enclose around his neck. That present night, he dreamt of being pushed off of a second-floor balcony. Judging by the soreness of his throat, Steve was sure that he had been screaming in his sleep.

* * *

The nightmares came and went, and Steve could not determine why. He had gotten used to the consistency of the strange dreams, but now he dreamt irregularly. While consistency prevented him from a full sleep cycle, the new sporadic nature of his nightmares kept him from at least preparing himself from whatever nightmare he had to endure. They were so vivid that he found himself doing simple exercises in his living room each night to try to rid himself of the disturbing images that stuck to his mind.

The latest nightmare included a pile of dead bodies in a deeply dug hole surrounded by greenery. Steve was so horrified that bile immediately rose up in his throat upon waking up. He barely made it to the toilet bowl as he jumped out of bed with one hand clamped tightly over his mouth. He vomited the entirety of his stomach, and dry-heaved when there was nothing left to throw up. He wasn't able to sleep at all for the rest of that night. The circles under his eyes were so dark that he received many concerned glances as he walked through the doors of the Triskelion and silently crossed the lobby area to the elevators. Steve became so weary of the looks that he claimed an entire conference room to himself and spent the entire day studying files of past missions. No one disturbed him, except for the occasional brief visit from Agent Coulson to give him a fresh cup of coffee.

Steve lost track of time and was so engrossed in his reading that he didn't even notice the additional presence in the room. Slowly, the smell of hamburgers and french fries reached his nose. He frowned and shook his head to try to rid himself of the hallucination. When the smell persisted, he lifted his head and frowned deeper as he saw one of SHIELD's most talked-about agents standing by the doorway while holding a white paper bag.

"Hawkeye," Steve acknowledged coolly, though the unexpectedness of the agent's company both intrigued and confused him.

"Oh good. You have heard of me," Hawkeye grinned at him. The expression on his face was lively and sincerely glad at this revelation. "I gotta tell ya. The fact that Captain America knows me by reputation is making me feel a little giddy inside."

Steve kept staring at him as Hawkeye welcomed himself into the room without invitation and sat on a seat near the Captain. The infamous agent proceeded to open the paper bag and slowly took out its contents.

"I actually wanted to introduce myself earlier, but things got in the way, you know?" Hawkeye said as he set a wrapped hamburger and a container of french fries in front of Steve. "I mean, you wouldn't believe how many mafia leaders were duking it out, and, ironically, it was up to us to keep them from killing each other. If you ask me, the world would be a better place if they all just offed each other. Whatever. Something about black market deals or economic imbalance. I call bullshit on all of 'em."

Steve's frown deepened some more and Hawkeye noticed.

"Oh, shoot. I'm sorry, Captain," Hawkeye said with a hand lightly over his mouth. "Didn't mean to cuss. That's, like, the devil's word back in your days, right?"

Steve was too confused to be offended. He simply shook his head. "No, it's not—uh," he struggled to find the right words. "Wha- what, I mean, what are you doing?" Steve gestured to the food in front of him. "Did Coulson send you?"

The grin on Hawkeye's features returned. "Maybe." At Steve's heavy sigh, he continued, "With all due respect, I believe that even super soldiers have to eat. Besides, you look like shit."

Steve almost reprimanded him for using so much profanity, but his mood quickly lightened when Hawkeye finished with a mock salute and a determined, "Sir." The corners of his mouth curved to a slight smile as he timidly picked up the hamburger and unwrapped it.

"The word around is that you've been checking out my partner," Hawkeye said as Steve took a bite out of his hamburger. "You want me to talk you up, Captain?"

Steve saw the mischievous look on Hawkeye's face. At that moment, he concluded that he rather liked the sarcastic archer. "Steve. Call me Steve."

Hawkeye nodded. "Clint Barton," he exchanged.

Steve raised his eyebrows in question. "Agent, I don't have the clearance level to know that information."

Hawkeye laughed out loud. "Clearance, my ass. You're Captain Fucking America!"

Before he knew it, Steve was laughing out loud with him.

* * *

Steve and Clint instantly became friends. While Steve was very quiet and reserved, Clint was loud and bold. He often tried to get Steve to do things that he normally would not even consider doing, like going out to a bar (" _Seriously, Clint, I can't get drunk. It would be pointless.")_ , eating fast food ( _"So they substituted the bread with hashbrown? That's not a burger, Clint. That's just strange."_ ), drinking at Starbucks ( _"This isn't coffee!"_ ), and watching more television ( _"If he was truly alone in that island, who taught him to fight?", "Just watch the show, Rogers! Geez!"_ ). Although Clint's sarcasm took some time to get used to, Steve found him to be a great conversationalist and an excellent listener. He actually listened to Steve and was very honest in his responses. Steve shared about his life before and after the serum. He shared about his adventures as a super soldier. Eventually, he shared about the strange dreams that he had been having. Steve was careful to not give him too many details about the nightmares, but he stressed over its continuous occurrences and how it affected his mental condition.

"You're not crazy, Cap. I can see that clearly," Clint offered. "You were frozen for seven decades. Maybe it's just a side-effect. Side-effects go away eventually."

Clint also agreed with Steve's methods of trying to clear his mind of the nightmares. "Doing physical activities work for me too. Fun sexy time works best, but, seeing as you are the golden boy of the 40s, sex is more- uh- meaningful for you. Right?" At this, Steve's cheeks reddened immensely. "Punching bags are especially effective," Clint continued. "Sparring with someone works even better." Steve had told him that he was limited to what he can do in his apartment, and that he didn't have a means of transportation so working out at the Triskelion would have to strictly be during the daytime when his escorts could drive him.

On the day after that conversation, Steve was presented with a key to a motorcycle.

"Hawkeye was adamant that we provide you with some sort of independent transportation," Agent Coulson said as he walked Steve to his motorcycle. "He was especially insistent that a Harley would best suit you."

From then on, Steve drove to and from the Triskelion on his own. The bike also enabled him to use the Triskelion's gym facilities at all hours of the night. Surprisingly, there were many agents who worked at night and they learned to expect Steve to appear at least every other night. Per Clint's recommendation, Steve also started using the boxing equipment in the training facility. After breaking three punching bags, Agent Coulson arranged for one side of the room to always be lined with numerous unhung punching bags. It didn't escape Steve's attention that the bags were stuffed with thicker material than the regular punching bags.

* * *

Count Basie's orchestral arrangements blared through the speakers in Steve's living room as he busied himself with preparing his cooking ingredients. While SHIELD provided wonderful meal accommodations three times a day, Steve found himself longing for an old fashion home-cooked meal. He used to cook for his mother when he was younger so he was sure that he would be adequate at cooking now. His hands worked gingerly through cutting the garlic and carrots that he would be using for a chicken casserole, smiling contently as old memories involving the delicious dish came to mind. It was Bucky's favorite, and Steve used to cook it for him long after his mother passed away.

He positioned a carrot on the cutting board and aligned his knife to cut it in half. He was just about to push the knife down when a sharp pain suddenly appeared on his hip. The knife fell to the floor with a clatter as Steve instinctively grabbed his side. The pain was so intense that his vision blurred from the burning sensation. _Burning?,_ he thought to himself as his eyelids blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision. The pain was familiar. He was sure that he had felt it before.

Steve regulated his breathing enough to compose himself. He lifted his shirt to examine the entire left side of his body, and frowned when he saw nothing out of the ordinary. His skin was intact and there were no indications of an injury. His fingertips grazed over the burning area and he was about to push into the skin when he felt another burn radiating from his left forearm. This one was even more intense that the first. A strangled grunt escaped from his lips as his eyes became absolutely blurred and he fell hard on the wooden floor.

 _Bullet_ , he thought to himself as he gritted his teeth. _It feels like a gunshot wound!_

His head turned towards his arm and, again, he frowned when he saw nothing. Disorientation was quickly overpowering his mind, all from a pain that was both familiar and unfamiliar to him. Steve knew what a gunshot wound felt like, but because of the super soldier serum, the pain from a gunshot wound usually dull immediately after the initial penetration to his skin. This feeling, however, grew worse as the seconds passed by. Steve did not know how to handle this kind of pain and he didn't know how to make it go away.

Something gripped around the pain on his arm and he was sure that he screamed as he felt a force push into the exact spot where a wound should be. Steve had never been a believer of the supernatural, but he was quickly starting to change his mind. The sound of another scream reached his ears. The thrums of drums and blares of a saxophone drowned it out, mostly, but he was sure that he heard it. He was also sure that it didn't come from him.

" _Řekl jsem vám to! Nemám práci pro něj!"_

His eyes flew open as he struggled to look around his surroundings. He was alone in his apartment, yet the voice was unmistakable. Steve tried to filter the music from his living room as he focused on the other sounds that he seemed to be hearing. He heard a male voice, aggressively and angrily yelling; and he heard a female voice, occasionally whimpering and screaming. His mind worked in overdrive as he tried to think of reasons why this was happening to him, but he couldn't come up with anything logical enough to explain his current predicament.

He gritted his teeth as he felt his arm twist unnaturally. Again, he looked at his arm but saw nothing out of the ordinary, yet he felt it. He felt the jabbing pain that came with a broken bone and the sting of damaged, pinched nerves.

" _Nevím! Nevím!"_

It only now registered to Steve that he was hearing a different language. He tried to identify it, but it didn't sound like any language that he had been exposed to. He did, however, finally identified the voice as belonging to a female.

" _No! Don't!"_

He frowned when the English words reached his ears, but he immediately forgot about it as another severe pain radiated through his body. He shivered involuntarily from the shock as he groaned. As his breathing slowed, foreign emotions passed through him; emotions that didn't belong to him. He felt fear and desperation, which were just as quickly replaced by anger and determination.

" _Jsem varování. Zastavení nebo i zabít."_

His breathing slowed at the intensity of the voice. It was somehow calmer now, and almost threatening. There was a coldness in its tone that indicated malicious intent. Another wave of dizziness took over as he felt a stabbing pain go through his shoulder. The pain became too overwhelming, and Steve eventually passed out on the kitchen floor.

* * *

Hours later, he awoke with the same burning sensation running along his left arm and hip, only dulled slightly by the time that had passed. Steve groaned loudly as he stood from the floor and quickly made his way towards his stereo. He couldn't think with the loud music playing in his apartment. With a swift click of a switch, the jazz melody stopped and he was left with only silence. Again, he tried to think of reasons as to why this strange circumstance happened, but the pain in his body was too distracting, it was too much. He wasn't used to feeling this much pain without knowing how to rid himself of it. When he fought in the war, he became adept at patching himself up and he knew exactly what to do to allow the serum to heal his body. With this pain, the one that he could not see, there was no obvious way of helping his body heal. From what he could tell, there was nothing physically wrong with him, yet he felt like he had been beaten and tortured for hours. There was truly nothing he could do aside from trying to ignore the discomfort and the ache.

He did, however, tried to remember what he had heard. He heard a foreign language, one that he had never been exposed to. He couldn't quite remember all of it, but he did remember the last phrase, the one that made him almost shiver with fear.

"Jee-sem… va- varo…. Vani?" he murmured. He tried to sound it out loud until he was able to write it down as accurately as he could.

He also heard something in English. He heard her ( _Her?)_ scream desperately in English to try to stop the pain from happening. He was sure of it.

Steve sat on his couch and tried to rest but the dull pain was too present, too loud. He couldn't stop thinking about it. After an hour or so more, he sighed in defeat, grabbed his jacket and keys, and went out to his bike. The drive to the Triskelion was slow and relaxing. The cool night air felt good as it breezed through his shirt. Though, he took extra care to concentrate on the road as he felt the stinging sensation on his left arm again. The lobby security greeted him politely when he entered the building, but warned him that Director Fury was currently present in the building, due to an almost failed extraction mission. Steve couldn't help but note the time on his watch. It was almost 3:00 am. His purpose was to use the gym but curiosity got the better of him.

"The Director and the rest of the agents are on the Med Bay, 32nd," the kind security agent offered. Steve nodded a thanks and quickly walked towards the elevators.

He watched curiously from afar at first. He wasn't quite sure if his clearance level would allow him to be present at a situation like this, but then Clint's declaration of _"You're Captain Fucking America!"_ came into mind and he was suddenly more determined to be more informed than he used to be.

As soon as Steve stepped out of the elevator, he became overwhelmed with the traffic of bodies that moved with urgency throughout the floor. Voices of varying volume levels filled the air, demanding for specific medical equipment and supplies to be provided. There were men and women in white coats, busied with tending to other men and women wearing dark, combat uniforms. Most of them were bleeding from different parts of their bodies; some were uselessly cradling broken limbs. Steve hadn't witnessed such a scene since the war. He wanted to help and was about to offer his aid to the nearest agent, but stopped when his eyes landed on a familiar figure. His brows furrowed in concern as he took in the archer's tense posture and quickly walked the distance to make sure that he was not amongst the injured.

"Barton," he said as he placed a hand on Clint's shoulder. The archer turned in surprise and nodded a greeting.

"Hey, Cap. Here to work out?" Clint asked.

Steve nodded in response. He allowed a few seconds to pass by as he assured himself that Clint was indeed as healthy as he had been when he last saw him. Once Steve was satisfied that Clint was not injured, he asked, "What's happening?"

A dark look passed over Clint's features. "The extraction team was late. We almost lost an agent," said Clint. "Those stupid knuckleheads couldn't even keep time properly. I swear I'm gonna beat the shit out of their team leader. She could've died," he snarled.

Steve looked to him with cautious eyes. "Who?"

Clint hesitated as he saw Director Fury briefly glance at them, before answering softly, "Black Widow."

A loud scream caught Steve's attention and his eyes quickly searched for its source. Before Steve could register what was happening, Clint had already left his side and was sprinting away. Steve followed him to a curtained area and saw the Black Widow thrashing about on a small hospital bed. A slight sense of excitement passed through Steve as his eyes inadvertently took stock of the Black Widow's entirety. It was his first time being this close to the agent, and he felt slightly guilty for admiring her magnificence close-up when she was clearly in a lot of pain.

He shifted himself to stand by a corner, out of the way of the doctors and nurses, and he observed Clint gently place both hands on Black Widow's face. Her skin glistened with a mixture of sweat, blood, and grime. Her lips mimed a silent plea for help, and her eyes were glazed and distant.

"Hey, hey, I'm here. I'm here," Steve heard Clint whisper. "You gotta calm down, okay? They're gonna fix you, but you gotta stop moving."

A man wearing a white coat plunged a tiny syringe into her right shoulder and, within seconds, she immediately fell unconscious. Her eyes fluttered close and Clint sighed in relief as he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs and laid a gentle kiss on her forehead. The doctors and nurses proceeded to busy themselves with cutting the uniform off of her body. It was only then that Steve realized the severity of her injuries. Patches of her body were purple with bruises, and multiple cuts marred her legs, arms, and stomach. His frown deepened and his breathing quickened as he felt anger and disgust upon seeing this woman's battered body.

The Black Widow's current state disturbed him so much that he failed to notice two very specific injuries: the bleeding wounds on her hip, and the strange angle of her left arm.

* * *

Czech Translations (likely to be inaccurate):

"Řekl jsem vám to! Nemám práci pro něj!" (I told you! I don't work for him!)

"Nevím! Nevím!" (I don't know! I don't know!)

"Jsem varování. Zastavení nebo i zabít." (I'm warning you. Stop or I will kill you.)


End file.
